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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668539">From Afar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_awkward221/pseuds/dr_awkward221'>dr_awkward221</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Annoyances to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Getting Together, Inspired by The Haunting of Hill House, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sakusa Kiyoomi-centric, additional cw in the notes at the beginning, i mean just theo, kinda??</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:09:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_awkward221/pseuds/dr_awkward221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiyoomi was ten when he started seeing ghosts. Echoes of memories, printed on objects, places and people. Memories of the past, of the present, and sometimes of the future, that appeared at the smallest touch.<br/>But ever since back then, the gloves had kept him safe, a solid barrier between him and the world, keeping the ghosts at bay and protecting him from unwanted feelings.<br/>Until, of course, Miya Atsumu.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>229</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From Afar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have to start by saying that this fic owes its existence to Theo from The Haunting of Hill House. I took inspiration from her powers, but that's where the similarities with the show start and end, and I took some liberties since it's not like it's really explained how it works for her. BUT YEAH, THANK YOU THEO I LOVE YOU. </p><p>Thank you Ava for letting me rant to you about the idea as soon as I had it and being the first to read through the early draft and being an amazing cheerleader for the whole three days it took to write it 💕 </p><p>Thank you Sarah for beta-reading and bearing with me for the whole ten days it took to edit it into something readable and for being a general excellent critic and editor ily (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentNorth/pseuds/SilentNorth">also please check out her stuff she's such a good writer i die</a>)</p><p>Warning: there's graphic depiction of gore at one point, it's just a few lines but it's pretty gross, so if it's not your thing you can skip it jumping from "The eventual falling out of love." to the next paragraph "Kiyoomi moved away,[...]". </p><p>(also general cw for mentions of suicide, college-issued depression, sex and non consensual ghost boners)</p><p>The lyrics you'll find scattered around are from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWZHyDFWENs&amp;ab_channel=SleepingAtLast-Topic">"Touch" by Sleeping at Last</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p>
<h4>
  <em>when will i feel this as vivid as it truly is, fall in love in a single touch, and fall apart when it hurts too much?</em>
</h4><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ever since Kiyoomi could remember, the gloves had always helped. Green wool ones, turned leather brown when his hands got too big, then a black pair, turned four or five when he moved for college and needed the change at hand (and also the security of having at least two pairs on him at all times, just in case he lost one). </p><p>The gloves had always helped. With them, he’d always been safe. </p><p>His mother had given the first pair to him, wrapped up in a fancy gift paper and a pretty bow. </p><p>“They might help,” she had said, and let him keep them on even at the dinner table, despite his father’s protests and his older sister’s teasing. No one but his mum knew the reason behind them. No one had to know. </p><p>The gloves stayed on all day long, they got washed every night, and went back on the next morning. </p><p>The gloves stayed on, no one had to know why, and he was safe. </p><p> </p><p>It all started when he was ten. Maybe even before that, but he hadn’t realized what it was, or he simply didn’t remember it. </p><p>He was ten when he started seeing the memories.</p><p>That day he touched a bench, at the park, and was greeted with the sight of an old man, dressed in rags and newspaper sheets, shivering curled up on the bench right next to him. Kiyoomi stared, wide eyed, as the man stopped shivering and died. And he kept staring, as his body got covered in a thin layer of ice in the middle of what was a hot July afternoon. He screamed, then. </p><p>Someone, he later realized it had been his mum, pulled him up from the bench and wrapped him in a tight hug, asking what was wrong. He blinked, hand removed from the contact with the bench, and the man was gone. He’d never been there in the first place, Kiyoomi knew, but that didn't make him less real. He’d <em> seen </em> him. </p><p> </p><p>A few months later, he touched the railing of a bridge he passed everyday on his way to school. He was letting his finger travel along it, moving the residual rain that had pooled in little puddles on top of it, and then he looked up and there was a young woman climbing up on the railing, and looking down at the railway tracks passing below. </p><p>Kiyoomi stilled, finger stuck on the railing, eyes stuck on the woman, who turned to look at him. Her hair was wet and clinging to her forehead, but it wasn’t raining. Not anymore. Her jacket was jerked left and right by a wind that Kiyoomi could not feel. </p><p>Then she jumped. </p><p>And Kiyoomi screamed. </p><p>His cousin Komori, who’d been walking to school with him and had stopped a few steps ahead, looking back at him with a questioning look, rushed to his side asking <em> what was wrong, what was happening? </em>But Kiyoomi didn’t know what was happening, and he couldn’t answer. </p><p> </p><p>By the time winter came around, he had seen more people (and also a dog once) die on the street than any ten year old kid should be allowed to see. He called them ghosts, because it was easier, but they weren’t really ghosts. They were memories, printed on objects, places and people. Memories of the past, of the present, and sometimes of the future. And it wasn’t all death and gore, there were happy memories too, sometimes. He’d be playing in the living room and he’d suddenly be playing alongside his sister when she was around his age. He’d climb on a chair to reach a taller cupboard to grab snacks and he’d see his parents, younger and happier, dancing around the kitchen to music he couldn’t hear and bumping into the chair whose back he was holding on to. He’d be leaning against the traffic light waiting for the green light to cross the street and there would be a dog jumping up and down, putting its paws on his leg, licking his hand that, once pulled away and inspected, would turn out to be dry. There were children playing at the park, girls laughing at the mall, people celebrating birthdays and weddings in restaurants. He didn’t really mind those, happy memories put him in a good mood as well. But in time he realized that they weren’t all that frequent, since the memories that stuck more than others were the strong ones, and nothing was stronger than the trauma of dying. </p><p> </p><p>The final straw came one night, as his mother was putting him back to bed after a nightmare. She passed a hand on his forehead and he saw her visibly age in front of his eyes, her hair turning white and thin, her skin sagging, and her eyes losing clarity, until the words she’d been whispering to him as comfort turned into a garbled mess, saliva started to pool and spill out of her mouth, and Kiyoomi could not do this anymore. </p><p>She held him as he shouted and pushed her quickly decomposing body away from him, until she registered what he was saying and let him go. He shut his eyes so tight it hurt, putting his hands on top of them for good measure, until he calmed down enough to start hearing his mother’s voice turning back to normal again, calling his name, begging for him to calm down. </p><p>He lowered his hands, opened his eyes, and she was normal once again. His dad appeared in the doorway, a concerned line between his eyebrows, probably awakened by the shouting. </p><p>“Is everything alright?” he asked. </p><p>His mother looked at Kiyoomi for an answer, he nodded weakly, and his father walked back to bed. </p><p>“What do you see?” his mum asked as soon as they were alone again. “What have you been seeing?” She reached a hand out and put it on his knee, covered by the blanket. He waited for the visions to come back at the contact, but nothing happened. </p><p>“Stuff,” he replied, pouting slightly, the panic still lingering in his chest. </p><p>“You know, your grandma used to see <em> stuff </em>, too,” she said.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>His mum nodded. “Some people are just more sensitive to <em> stuff </em> than others. It’s nothing to worry about, alright? You’re safe.”</p><p>He nodded, not convinced. </p><p>“These things. They won’t hurt you. They exist on another plane than ours. That’s what my mother used to tell me, in case I ever became aware of them like she was.”</p><p>“You didn’t, though?”</p><p>“No. But you did,” she smiled, squeezing his knee. “Good thing she told me, huh? Now I can tell you.”</p><p>“I guess,” he said, and then she pushed him to go back to sleep, and he did. </p><p>The next morning there were a pair of finely wrapped gloves near his plate at breakfast. </p><p>“What’s this?” he asked his mum, who just winked at him and told him: “Early Christmas gift.”</p><p> </p><p>He never took them off after that, and never saw anything he didn’t want to see ever again.</p><p> </p><p>So, the gloves stayed on, and the kids at school were mean, but Kiyoomi didn’t care. He’d rather be made fun of than have to know every person that had ever touched his desk while sitting at school, or the life and death of the man who had put his Bic pen into its packaging while taking notes, or the highs and lows of a white chalk’s life while resolving a math problem at the blackboard. </p><p>The first winter went well. He could blame it on the cold. The first summer was not as good, but, when people asked, he started blaming it on germs, and somehow everyone believed him. Made fun of him for it, but believed him. He guessed a germ thing wasn’t such a weird thing to have. </p><p>Surely less weird than seeing the ghosts of past, present and future. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There was just one single exception to his gloves-on-at-all-times rule that wasn’t <em> while showering </em> or <em> while they’re being washed </em>, and it was volleyball. </p><p>Komori had taken him to try it out, one day during their first year of middle school. They had to choose a club, and Komori had wanted to go try volleyball <em> so bad </em> but didn’t want to go alone, and Kiyoomi had kind of felt bad about it (not that anyone needed to know that), so he had tagged along. </p><p>Watching volleyball was fun. Maybe playing would be too. He played sometimes with Komori at the park, throwing a ball back and forth. The actual rules looked way more complicated, like you had to think about it. He liked having something to think about. It kept his mind away from <em> other </em> things. </p><p>As soon as they entered the gym he collided with a taller boy, who shot out a hand to keep him from falling to the ground, fingers closing around the exposed inch of skin of his wrist. Kiyoomi wrenched his arm away, yelling: “Don’t touch me!” </p><p>“Woah, sorry, buddy,” the other boy said, raising his hands. “I didn’t want you to fall over.”</p><p>“I wasn’t going to,” he replied, shooting him a look of distaste and clutching his wrist to his chest as if it was hurting. It wasn’t. He’d barely caught a glimpse of a warm feeling, like a summer afternoon spent eating icecream and digging your feet in fresh grass, before it was over. </p><p>“Well, sorry for bumping into you. Are you here to join the club?”</p><p>“Just to look around,” Kiyoomi replied, at the same time Komori exclaimed: “Yes we are!”</p><p>“Uhm. Just go inside,” the boy said, pointing a thumb behind him. “Find the guy with the round glasses, that’s the captain. Talk to him.”</p><p>“Thank you!” Komori shouted, and then pushed Kiyoomi inside with both hands on his back. </p><p> </p><p>The captain made them try it out. Bounce a ball around, a couple of receives, overhand passes, basic stuff. Kiyoomi stuck to the sidelines, hands buried deep in his sweatshirt’s pockets, still with his gloves on. He wouldn’t, <em> couldn’t </em>take them off. </p><p>The other boys had looked at him weird, probably decided he didn’t actually want to play, and left him alone. </p><p>But he <em> wanted </em> to play. </p><p>It looked fun. Komori was laughing. </p><p>He pulled his hands out and stared at the palm of his green gloves. Could he play with them on? They were still that first wool pair, with darnings more or less well sewed where holes had formed over the year and a half he’d had them (the good ones had been done by his mum, the less good ones by himself, a couple of times he wanted to be independent about it). </p><p>If he tried to play with the gloves on, the ball would probably just slide straight off his fingers.</p><p>Komori sat down next to him after a while, looked at his hands, then up at his face, and told him he could try to play anyway. </p><p>He did. He tried. </p><p>It didn't work.</p><p>Komori threw him a ball or two, but he had no control over it, no grip, nothing. </p><p>“What’s up with the gloves?” he heard a boy ask in a whisper to another. </p><p>“I think it’s a germ thing,” the other replied, hushed. </p><p>“Ah, right.”</p><p>Kiyoomi’s shoulders stiffened. </p><p>“I don’t think it’s gonna be <em> that </em>dirty,” Komori whispered to him, holding a ball in his hands and looking down at it with a focused gaze and a scientific pout. </p><p>“Yeah,” Kiyoomi replied. “Maybe.” He looked at his gloves. And started to pull them off, one finger at a time. He folded them carefully and put them away in his pocket. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then looked at Komori and opened his arms in a silent request for him to throw him the ball. </p><p>Komori smiled, and threw it gently at him. He caught it, and took a second to register the feeling of a foreign object under his fingertips. How long had it been since he’d touched something new? The ball was rubbed smooth from use, a couple of pieces of rubber sticking out, half scratched off. He held it, and waited for the wave of ghosts coming with it. </p><p>Instead, the only thing he felt from it was joy. There was no particular signature, like most objects used to have. No singular person who’d been particularly attached to this ball. It was just a ball in a middle school gym, and it held only joy and hunger and hope and determination, and Kiyoomi’s chest filled with all of it, and he felt like crying, but he didn’t. He swallowed it all and looked back up at Komori. </p><p>“I want to play volleyball,” he declared, and Komori cheered. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<h4>
  <em> can we skip past near-death clichés where my heart restarts, as my life replays? all i want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed. </em>
</h4><h4>
  <em> i know, i know- the sirens sound just before the walls come down. pain is a well-intentioned weatherman predicting God as best he can, but God i want to feel again. </em>
</h4><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Starting high school was like stepping into a blizzard after having just warmed up inside a cozy room with a fireplace and hot cocoa. He had to adjust all over again, adjust to stinky teenagers and sweat and pimples and growth spurts and joints hurting and sweaty hands inside leather gloves. He had made a name for himself in middle school. Everyone knew he was ‘the germ guy’, and that it was better to stay away from him because he’d snap at anyone who got too close. Now no one knew. He was just some guy with a mask on, who probably had a cold, and kept the gloves on in class because he got chills. </p><p>It took a couple of months for it to settle in between his classmates that he wasn’t going to become their friend, that he wasn’t going to hang out with them at lunch, or do homework together after class. After a couple of hands on shoulders and hissed “<em> don’t touch me </em>”s, they got the idea. </p><p>It turned out pretending to be a germaphobe might have been the best idea he’d ever had. It was the perfect excuse: people thought him weird and left him alone, and he could stay away from crowded hallways where accidental brushes of skin were highly probable. </p><p>And after school there was volleyball. </p><p>Always the best part of his day. </p><p> </p><p>He got good at it. </p><p>So good he got awards. </p><p>So good they called him to a training camp in the winter of his second year, reserved for all of Japan’s best high school players. </p><p>He didn’t want to go. There were going to be people he had to interact with, players he wasn’t used to playing with, and it lasted <em> a whole week </em> . He’d have to spend it in a hotel, in a room that wasn’t his, sleeping in a bed where other people had slept, and he was going to <em> hate it </em>. </p><p>But Komori was going, and if there was one thing Komori was good at it was dragging him along to do stuff he didn’t really want to do. So in the end, they both went. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Miya Atsumu was a menace. </p><p>Kiyoomi hated him with a passion. </p><p>In his life he always tried to keep a level head about everything, not get too invested in things and people, but there was no way he could stay indifferent to that bastard. </p><p>Miya Atsumu was a tall ensemble of wandering limbs (ready to drape around everyone close enough to be in his range), easy fake smiles, and awfully dyed blond hair. </p><p>He talked too much, stood too close, and seemed to want to be friends with everyone at the camp while simultaneously rubbing them all the wrong way, making snide remarks about the exact thing each one of them was struggling with. He pushed and prodded and was the most annoying person Kiyoomi had ever met. </p><p>But he was a good setter. He was <em> great, </em> actually. </p><p>Kiyoomi hated him even more for it. </p><p> </p><p>While staying at the hotel, he didn’t spend much time in his room. He was in and out of the baths before anyone else could come in, cleaning up fast and efficiently, touching as little of the floor and walls and faucets as he could. </p><p>Then got into his long sleeved, long legged pyjamas, and went to sit in his room on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees. The first night he’d tried sleeping sitting on the armchair, but he’d ended up leaning his cheek on the backrest and was awakened by the feeling of someone sitting on top of him, hands in his hair, lips on his neck. </p><p>He’d jumped up, eyes wide and heart hammering in his chest from the residual memory of a kiss that wasn’t his. </p><p>He’d stopped trying to sleep there, and was even less keen to try the bed, knowing now who two of the past occupants of this hotel room had been. Well, not <em> who </em> exactly, but <em> what </em>. A lovey dovey couple. He could try to go sleep in Komori’s room, he supposed, try and see if his cousin’s past roommates had been less lewd than his own, during their stay, but he couldn’t possibly explain the real reason why he couldn’t sleep in his own room, nor could he come up with a convincing enough excuse. Wanting to sleep in the same room as Komori, from an uneducated point of view, seemed just pathetic. So he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for everyone else to go to sleep, and after that, he roamed. He walked in the hallways, looking at the paintings, studying the patterns in the carpets, making tea in the hall, or going for a walk around the block. </p><p>On the second night, he’d ended up passing out on the gym floor, back against the wall, and managed to sleep sitting still for the whole time, not touching anything by accident. </p><p>The following day he’d been so sore he’d had trouble jumping around during practice.</p><p>On the third night, he was sitting on the few steps that led to the entrance of the hotel, shivering in the jacket he'd thrown over his pyjamas, but knowing that the cold was maybe the only thing keeping him awake in that moment. </p><p>He heard footsteps come up behind him, the sound of the front door sliding open, and Atsumu's annoying voice, ringing loud and clear in the silence of the night, calling him. “Omi-kun?” </p><p>Kiyoomi couldn’t help the loud sigh that escaped his lips. “What do you want, Miya?”</p><p>“Oh.” He seemed caught off guard by the confirmation that, yes, the person sitting there was indeed Kiyoomi and not simply a figment of his imagination. He shuffled to his side and descended the few steps, and Kiyoomi noticed he was definitely not dressed for bed, a light jacket with shorts and a pair of long compression leggins underneath. He started bouncing around on the spot, warming up, his breath fogging up in front of his face. “Thought I could go for a run 'round the block.”</p><p>Kiyoomi stared at him, squinting suspiciously. "It's 2 am."</p><p>“Can’t sleep,” Atsumu replied, as if it was enough of an explanation, starting to stretch his arms.</p><p>“Yeah?” Kiyoomi asked, "Maybe because you're jumping up and down. Have you tried lying down?"</p><p>Atsumu just hummed, ignoring the jab. “What 'bout ya? Yer sittin' on some steps at 2 am. That's even weirder than goin’ for a run.”</p><p>“Well, same as you, I guess. Can't sleep.”</p><p>“Ya look like shit.”</p><p>Kiyoomi hummed, staring at his gloved hands gathered in his lap. He picked at a loose thread on his right index finger and made a mental note to cut it off later. </p><p>There was silence for a while, broken only by the steady thumping of Atsumu's feet on the ground as he lightly jogged on the spot. Kiyoomi was on edge from the quiet. It felt eerie, there in the night. He'd swear he could hear crickets chirping in the distance. </p><p>Atsumu wasn’t a quiet person. Far from it. And yeah, maybe it was because it was late at night and he didn't want to disturb the neighborhood, but… it was just too weird to not hear him talk. </p><p>“Didn't you say you wanted to run?” he asked, looking up at him with the dirtiest look he could muster, trying to will him to leave by sending him hostile psychic waves alone.</p><p>Atsumu shrugged, "I guess I don't really want to, after all." He stopped bouncing after that, arms falling limply at his sides and dangling a bit. </p><p>"Then go back to bed, idiot."</p><p>Atsumu chuckled at that, moving towards him and letting himself fall down on the steps next to him. “Aw, yer worried ‘bout me, Omi-kun?”</p><p>Kiyoomi inched away, putting a safe distance back between them. “No." </p><p>Atsumu leaned all his weight on his arm, tilting towards him, cheek resting on his raised shoulder. "Ya <em> are </em>. Don't lie."</p><p>"I'm not. Go die in a ditch somewhere, see if I care." </p><p>"I'd rather go back inside and drink something. It's real cold out here, huh?" </p><p>“Then go. What are you waiting for, my permission?”</p><p>“Come inside with me,” Atsumu said, and extended a hand in his direction. </p><p>Kiyoomi looked at it, then up at Atsumu trying to convey just how much of a ‘no way’ thing that was. </p><p>Atsumu raised his eyebrows at him, then shrugged and, moving his hands on his knees to push himself up, jumped to his feet. </p><p>“Well?” he asked, seeing that Kiyoomi still wasn’t moving. </p><p>He was considering his options:</p><p>1. Go inside and get some tea in the hall with Atsumu;</p><p>2. Go straight back to his room and try to sleep on the floor;</p><p>3. Stay out here and die from the cold slowly and painfully;</p><p>4. … </p><p>Well, he guessed the tea option was the most enticing, even if it involved Atsumu’s company. </p><p>He stood up and shrugged inside his jacket. “Lead the way.”</p><p> </p><p>The hotel didn’t have a proper communal kitchen for guests to make their own tea or snacks. It was… well, it was just a table, in a corner of the entrance hall, with a good number of tea bags that upon further inspection turned out to be of only three kinds (a nondescript white bag labelled only ‘green tea’, a black tea whose brand name Kiyoomi had never heard before, and one single remaining matcha tea bag. The fact that it was in a tea bag was already a red flag, and Kiyoomi had ignored it on principle when he had scouted the tea station the previous day. He had walked away extremely disappointed.), sugars, a jug of milk that was just left out there getting warm (Kiyoomi was ignoring that one as well), one of water, and an electric kettle. </p><p>As soon as they reached the tea station Kiyoomi busied himself with filling the kettle and turning it on, while Atsumu started studying the tea options, all in a serene silence that was frankly making Kiyoomi’s bones hurt. It was so uncharacteristically Atsumu to just exist quietly, that Kiyoomi’s brain started to fill the blanks with not so pleasant images, of ghosts seen in the past. He didn’t know why he always jumped to the worst possible conclusions, but maybe he’d seen too much death not to.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Kiyoomi asked.  </p><p>Atsumu looked up at him with a surprised tilt of his eyebrows. “Ya really are worried,” he commented, a lazy grin pulling the corners of his mouth upwards.</p><p>“No. You were just being unusually bearable right this second, so I thought you might have brain damage or something. But I see you’re already back on your bullshit.”</p><p>Atsumu laughed again, “Yeah, I may be tired, but I’m still on top of my game.” And then he <em> winked </em>. </p><p>Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and groaned. </p><p>The kettle started to beep, so Kiyoomi took it and filled two mugs Atsumu had prepared with the mysterious black tea bag. Kiyoomi appreciated the choice, since it seemed the least dangerous of the three.</p><p>“Here,” he said, sliding one of the mugs over to Atsumu. </p><p>He took it, eyes lingering on Kiyoomi’s hands, covered with his gloves, the sleeves of his pyjama shirt tucked carefully inside them, under his jacket. </p><p>“Can I… can I ask ya a question?”</p><p>“No,” Kiyoomi replied, moving to sit on one of the hall couches.</p><p>Atsumu followed, and sat down on the opposite one, keeping the little coffee table between them. “Fair,” he replied, “but I’m gonna do it anyway.”</p><p>Kiyoomi threw him a sharp glance from under his eyebrows. </p><p>“What’s up with the germ thing?” Atsumu asked.</p><p>“I don’t like them. What else should there be?”</p><p>“I mean… Why?” </p><p>“Because I’m smart and sensible.”</p><p>Atsumu snorted a little laugh. “And the rest of us’re just a buncha fools, right?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Atsumu shook his head. “Ya don’t… have trouble playin’ volleyball, though.”</p><p>“Volleyball is different.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because I don’t have to touch the ball for long.”</p><p>“Fair—”</p><p>“And when I do it’s… it’s just… <em> joy </em>.”</p><p>Atsumu raised his eyebrows at him, looking impressed. “Didn’t know ya were capable of an emotion like that, Omi-kun!”</p><p>“Shut your mouth.”</p><p>Atsumu chuckled, and hid his smile inside the mug. </p><p>Kiyoomi looked away. </p><p>“Why do you care anyway?” he mumbled.</p><p>“Well, I’m curious! I never met anyone like ya. It’s interestin’.”</p><p>Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at him. </p><p>“Yer interestin’.”</p><p>“Thanks?”</p><p>“Yer supposed to say ‘<em> you’re interesting too, Atsumu, I like talking to you so much, let’s do this again tomorrow! </em>’”</p><p>Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather choke on this crappy tea than spend tomorrow night with you.”</p><p> </p><p>On the fourth night, he was back in the hall at the tea station, because he’d found out that the tea was a hundred times better than trying to stay awake while freezing to death on the steps outside. It had actually relaxed him enough that when he had gone back to his room he had managed to fall asleep on the floor, and he had discovered that it was safe. It didn’t remember much of what had passed before Kiyoomi, just steps, some lighter, some heavier, and it had almost been a lulling rhythm. </p><p>He was in front of the kettle that night, and then Atsumu walked in, stopping at the threshold leading to the elevator hallway to lean on the doorframe, a cheeky grin on his face. “Well, look who couldn’t wait for our nightly date,” he said, and Kiyoomi wanted to bridge the gap between them and strangle him. </p><p>“Why can’tcha sleep?” he asked when they had their mugs in their hands, back in the same spots as the night before. </p><p>“My bed is gross.”</p><p>“Oh. Wanna try mine?” he asked, another smile splitting his face from ear to ear. </p><p>“I’d rather sleep on the sidewalk,” Kiyoomi replied, curling up his nose in distaste. </p><p>Atsumu laughed. “Well, yer loss, really.”</p><p>“Agree to disagree.”</p><p>“Well, do what ya want, but ya look like crap.Ya need to sleep.”</p><p>“Yeah, no shit,” Kiyoomi mumbled. </p><p>“Look, if the sheets gross you out… put some towels on top of them. Towels’re clean for sure, right? They change them, like, <em> every day </em>. Fresh from the laundry. Ya use them, don’tcha?”</p><p>“I guess…” </p><p>“Mh. Try it out. I don’t want ya hittin’ sloppy spikes tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t tell him he had brought a towel from home because he was too scared to see blood on the hotel provided ones. It had happened once, while on holiday with his family, and that was just the end of the relationship between him and hotel towels.</p><p>He tried it, though. He put his towel on his pillow and laid down on his back, staying on top of the covers, hands clasped on top of his stomach. Exhaustion caught up to him faster than a freight train, and he was out in a blink. </p><p>He woke up the next morning curled up on his side with his cheek against his towel, that carried nothing but Kiyoomi’s own memories. He breathed in the familiar scent of his mum's favourite laundry detergent, and then sat up. </p><p>It had worked. He’d managed to sleep. In the bed. The whole night. </p><p>He was never going to admit it to Atsumu, but he might actually be a genius. </p><p> </p><p>That day, at practice, he was fresher than he’d been in the previous four days. Maybe that was why he started paying less attention to other things that weren’t the ball. </p><p>He was usually on edge, glancing warily at his teammates, at their long bare arms and legs that could bump into his equally long and bare legs at any moment. </p><p>Back at home he usually practiced with his sweater on in winter, and with a long sleeved compression shirt underneath in summer. But the legs were still free and dangerous territory. If he covered them up too, he might die from a heat stroke. </p><p>So he was careful. Bumps still happened, because of course they did, but if there was one thing Kiyoomi had learned in the years, it was that just a brush of skin wasn’t going to show him more than a glimpse of emotion. It was the lingering that got him. The longer he touched something, the deeper ghosts he uncovered, and the last thing he wanted to see was how his teammates would eventually die. </p><p>Careful. Keeping an eye out at all times. Calculating everyone’s position and predicting their movements. But not today. Today he was just glad to be rested enough to manage to jump properly while blocking, and he hadn’t fit Atsumu into the equation. He jumped right beside him, and their shoulders collided. </p><p>It wasn’t a hard bump, but it caught Kiyoomi so much by surprise that he landed off balance, and he fell backwards. </p><p>Atsumu landed a millisecond after him, but it was enough to let him see that he was falling and distract him from his own landing, sending him to the ground as well. </p><p>Kiyoomi stared, propped up on his elbows, ignoring Atsumu’s complaining, at the single point of contact between his own shin and the setter’s hand. </p><p>He couldn’t move, too scared, too stuck thinking how big of an idiot he was to remember that he could just move away. </p><p>Then it hit him, warm and bright, making his heartbeat skyrocket and echo like a roar in his ears. </p><p>And… it was gone. Atsumu was standing up with a complicated twist of limbs, and the feeling was gone. </p><p>Kiyoomi stared at him, unmoving, too shocked to do anything else but <em> look </em>. </p><p>“Oi, ya alright?” Atsumu asked, seeing he wasn’t getting up. “Ya hurt somewhere?”</p><p>“No,” he replied. </p><p>Atsumu hummed and offered him a hand to help him up. Kiyoomi glared at it, and got up on his own. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed at him. </p><p>“Alright, ‘m sorry. And sorry for bumping into ya, as well,” Atsumu said. </p><p>“It’s… okay,” he said, and moved away, back to his place. He couldn’t stop glancing at Atsumu throughout practice, though. At the easy smile on his lips, at the hungry look in his eyes, at the careful way in which he moved for every play. </p><p>Kiyoomi didn’t know what he’d expected to feel from him, he really hadn’t thought about it ever, it wasn’t something he did, mostly because emotions were complicated and there was no way to discern a single one from just a brush. From accidents like this, he usually got a jumbled mess of contrasting feelings. Atsumu had no such thing as contrasting feelings. Right in that moment, brushing against his skin, Kiyoomi had caught only one thing from him, and it was <em> love. </em> </p><p>Love… for volleyball. </p><p>He could not wrap his head around it, it made no sense from an outside point of view. </p><p>Atsumu was obviously good at what he did, and he had a visible hunger for <em> more </em> , for getting better, for winning… but <em> love </em>? That was a lot. And it now filled Kiyoomi’s chest as well, the ghost of an emotion he didn’t know how to rationalize. </p><p>He kept on playing, and he <em> loved </em> every second of it, for the whole morning. </p><p> </p><p>When the memory faded, he was left longing for it. He wanted to feel it again, it had been the best he’d felt in a while, and he craved for it. He wondered if a little touch would bring it back, for the afternoon, for the next day, forever. But he didn’t do anything about it. What if the second time he uncovered more? What if he started to see things he didn’t want to see, things he <em> shouldn’t </em> see? Things that weren’t allowed? </p><p>No, he couldn’t risk it. </p><p>He kept his hands in his pockets, and kept away from Miya Atsumu for the rest of the camp.</p><p>For the rest of high school.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<h4>
  <em> rain or shine, i don’t feel a thing, just some information upon my skin. i miss the subtle aches when the weather changed, the barometric pressure we always blamed. </em>
</h4><h4>
  <em>all i want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed.</em>
</h4><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>College was hard. Even harder than high school, possibly. It was like getting thrown in unknown waters all over again, but this time on his own. There wasn’t even Komori to turn to when things got rough. </p><p>He was in a strange room, in a strange place, where so many people had breakdowns on a daily basis, where everyone was horny and wanted to party, where people <em> experimented </em>. </p><p>Past, present and future. College kids would always be like that. </p><p>And his room wasn’t an exception. At least with his sheets brought from home the ghosts were mostly kept at bay. Only some nights they woke him up, with wandering hands, hushed words whispered in his ears, goosebumps, and yeah, sometimes more than goosebumps. He hated it. He didn’t know these people, he didn’t want them turning him on, and still sometimes he couldn’t help it. He’d hit his ankle on the leg of the bed and there they were, making it creak on its old springs. A hand would slip out of the covers and rest against the frame, and there was someone waking him up going down on him. And even if he hated it, at least that kind of vision was sort of pleasant. At least it carried positive emotions, most of the time. But there were all kinds of less pleasant things happening all around him, as well. He’d slip in the shower and shoot out a hand to hold himself up on the wall and there was someone in the shower with him, crying their heart out under the flow. He’d fall asleep in class with his cheek on the desk and there was someone plotting how to kill themselves. He’d be forgetting to dry his hands and put his gloves back on after washing his hands before closing the faucet, spacing out thinking about course work, and there appeared another face in the mirror instead of his, furiously scrubbing at their cheeks, washing the remnant of tears away. </p><p>He wouldn’t have guessed that a college campus could hold so much depression inside of it, but he thought it wasn’t fair to judge since he could literally see all of it, from the year it was built to the year it would be destroyed. Who knew how many depressed kids there were this year. </p><p>It also wasn’t fair to all the nice things happening around him. He just happened to be unlucky and catch the worst memories most of the time, but there was happiness in there as well. Love for the subjects people were majoring in, good times spent with friends, late night sneakings into the library to steal sugar packets from the cafè, moonlit kisses on the grass outside the lecture halls. He accidentally caught those too, but the 50/50 chance of less pleasant experiences wasn’t enough for him to take the risk lightly. After a year he was not making mistakes anymore. </p><p> </p><p>And there, in between the weird nights and the exhausting days, he played volleyball, because that’s what he liked, and even if he wanted to have a career path at the ready once he’d stop playing, he still wanted to do that first. </p><p>Balancing the increasing coursework on top of practice got tiring soon enough, but he had no intention of dropping out or giving up one of the two, even when the joy he usually got from squeezing the ball in his hands before serving got replaced with anger, frustration, exhaustion. He still didn’t stop. </p><p> </p><p>He experimented, because it was college and he felt like it. Made out with one girl at an end of the year party, decided he didn’t really like it, forgot her name the next day. She’d been kind with the no touching situation, kept her hands to herself, and only reached out to hold his shirt, which was okay. And at first kissing her had been kind of nice, even if not that exciting. Kiyoomi had been wondering what people found in it, when a wave of sadness hit him, strong and full of self-loathing and shame and resignation. He pushed back, biting his lips and staring at the girl looking at him with wide eyes, as he felt his throat close up and his nose start to tingle and his eyes fill with tears. </p><p>She’d been worried, asking if he was alright, saying sorry, asking what was wrong, but the only thing he managed to say was retort: “What’s wrong with <em> you </em>?” and realized too late how rude it must have sounded, when she stood up and left him alone on the couch. </p><p> </p><p>Then there was one of his teammates. He didn’t particularly like kissing him either, but it was slightly better than the party girl. At least Kiyoomi was too deep into his own head that he didn’t catch anything from the quick press of lips against lips. </p><p>He was nice. Too nice for Kiyoomi, they found out later. But at the beginning they made it work. </p><p>Kiyoomi discovered things, about himself, about his ghosts. He learned he could keep them at bay, if he focused hard enough. Kissing helped, it kept his mind off things, didn’t let him linger on past memories, or future ones. He just felt a swirl of emotions that he wasn’t really able to catalogue or explain, but felt good. Sex was cool, too. It was the aftermath that wasn’t, and all the other things that dating entailed. The soft fingers caressing his forehead, the hand holding, the hugs. Those weren’t cool at all. His mind wasn’t busy with more pressing matters, and was free real estate for everyone else’s memories. At first it wasn’t exactly awful, to feel his boyfriend’s happiness as he squeezed his fingers, or seeing the dog he used to have as a kid when they passed one by on the street and he excitedly pointed it out to Kiyoomi while grabbing his arm, right above the hem of his glove. But then he started feeling anger, and disappointment, while he was still smiling and holding him, and realized he’d started seeing what was about to come. The eventual falling out of love. He could feel him getting bored of him, getting annoyed at his problems, he could see the breakup, the tears, the hurt, the running, and then he could see the left side of his head smashed in, blood dripping down from his deformed skull onto the gym floor, the only eye he had left moving frantically left to right, and his jaw, dislocated, hanging limp and bloody from it.</p><p>Kiyoomi moved away, heart in his throat, silently turning his back to him, going back to practice and refusing to explain. </p><p>He also refused to talk to him for the whole evening, and by the following morning he came to a conclusion. He texted to meet him outside the gym before class and broke up with him. </p><p>He was surprised, asked why, but Kiyoomi refused to tell the truth. He just said he didn’t have the time, between studying and practice, to also throw a boyfriend in the mix. He told him it wasn’t his fault, that he was nice, and that he deserved better. </p><p>He made him cry, but it was all for the best. </p><p>There was no way he could dash away and get run over by a car because of him, now. </p><p>There was class. </p><p>He hugged him, one last time, just to check, pressing his cheek against his ear. He recoiled a little at the clash of negative feelings that hit him right away, and the melancholy, like he was already missing him even while he was still there, then it stopped. And there was only silence and a soft dripping sound. </p><p>Kiyoomi pulled back, only to see that the bashed head was back. </p><p>He hadn’t managed to change anything. </p><p>“You okay?” he asked, raising a broken hand to wipe tears that Kiyoomi could no longer see under all the bone and gore. </p><p>Kiyoomi nodded weakly. “Don’t… don’t cross the street without looking.”</p><p>“What?” he asked, and Kiyoomi blinked and he was back to normal, only tears staining his flushed cheeks. </p><p>“You have to look before crossing. Promise me.”</p><p>“I… Okay. Sure.” He shook his head, confused. “I promise.”</p><p>And that was the end of it. </p><p>Kiyoomi decided he was never going to try dating anyone again, and random hook-ups just weren’t his style, so he gave up on romance altogether. </p><p>He didn’t exactly mind too much. It wasn’t like he needed it. </p><p>He had volleyball.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At the beginning of the last term of his last year, he started to look for teams. </p><p>He scouted the internet, reading stats and rankings, watching and rewatching matches on his phone late at night, the only time he had free from studying and practice. </p><p>He watched until his eyes burned and his head hurt, and then watched some more. </p><p>In the end, it was the Black Jackals that called louder than any other team. They were good. Reliable. He knew Bokuto Koutarou had been one of the top five aces back in high school, just a little short of getting into the top three where Kiyoomi had been. They had a solid base of older players, a convenient mix of good defence and good offence. </p><p>And they had Miya Atsumu. </p><p>Now, Kiyoomi wasn’t thinking of joining the Jackals <em> because </em> they had Miya, it was more of a deterrent, actually. But he <em> was </em> a good setter. And Kiyoomi had already played with him and it had been cool. He was already familiar with his tosses. And if he’d already been good in high school, who knew how much better he could be now. </p><p>It was… reassuring to know there would be someone like him in the team. Even if he was a little bitch. Kiyoomi could dislike him and still admit his tosses were excellent and that he’d be a fool to turn them down. </p><p>So he went to the tryouts. And got in. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi had no idea what being in the same team as Miya Atsumu would entail. Apparently, a lot of shoulder pats and smiles that looked a lot less fake than what he remembered them to be. And having to share a bus seat with him, and not be allowed to nap because he kept moving around and kneeling on his seat instead of sitting because he just <em> had </em> to talk to Hinata in the row in front of theirs. Having to grab his shin to keep him from falling over when the bus braked, rolling his eyes at his coos of “Aw, Omi-kun you just saved my life!”, retorting: “Sit down properly or I’ll call Meian-san,” starting to lean his head out in the corridor only to stop at Atsumu yelling “No don’t!” and violently crashing back in his seat, making the whole row rattle from the impact, and being grateful for the mask that hid his smile. Kiyoomi wouldn’t admit it, but he had fun. There was just something extremely enjoyable about poking at Atsumu until he snapped, ignoring him until he started to get flustered, falling into a back and forth that had become so second nature he sometimes found himself snapping a retort to everyone else too, like his mother during one of their weekly calls, once, or Bokuto. No one was as good as Atsumu at taking it in stride. His mum had just fallen silent for a full minute after which she had whispered a “what?” and Kiyoomi had had to apologize for being rude. Bokuto had started sulking and they had had to put in a collective team effort to cheer him up again. Atsumu always laughed and played along. It was fun. It was comfortable. Kiyoomi would be caught dead before he acknowledged it.</p><p>Being Atsumu’s teammate also meant going to his brother’s restaurant as a package deal.  Atsumu dragged them all to go eat at Onigiri Miya at least once a week after practice. Kiyoomi thought that it might actually be the only silver lining (that he was ready to admit out loud) of the whole situation. The onigiri were fantastic and the place was quiet and mostly empty at the late hour they always showed up. </p><p>And Osamu was funny. He had a thousand  little stories about Atsumu he just <em> loved </em> to tell, to make fun of him and, if there was one thing Kiyoomi liked, it was making fun of Atsumu. </p><p>One night Osamu was being particularly cruel, retelling of a summer their little group of friends had left Atsumu behind on the beach after he’d fallen asleep, taking everything away except the towel he’d been laying on, hiding behind a rock until he’d woken up. </p><p>“Y'all're terrible, <em> terrible </em>people!” Atsumu was complaining beside him as the others laughed along at Osamu’s detailed description of his freakout. “Ya gotta learn from Omi Omi, see how kind he’s bein’, not laughin' at my misery?” he said, slinging an arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulders. </p><p>Kiyoomi let him. He had his jumper on, the collar turned all the way up, so it was very hard for Atsumu to touch his skin, even if he’d wanted to.</p><p>He swallowed the bite he’d been working around, and then snorted, “Nah, I just had my mouth full. Allow me to laugh now.”</p><p>“I hate ya,” Atsumu replied, letting his forehead fall on his shoulder, and looking up at his brother from there, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Look what yer doin’! Makin’ me look like a fool in front of my best friend!”</p><p>“Oh, he’s yer <em> best friend </em>, now?” Osamu said, and Kiyoomi didn’t like the mocking tone behind his words, like he was implying he used to be referred as something completely different in their household. He didn’t like the implication that he had been discussed in their household in the first place.</p><p>“Shut yer trap!” Atsumu exclaimed, raising his head but still not moving his arm away. </p><p>Kiyoomi focused back on his food, and let the twins’ light banter turn into background noise. </p><p>Until Atsumu shifted, his sleeve rode up just enough to expose half of his forearm, and his bare skin brushed against Kiyoomi’s ear.  </p><p>It burned. </p><p>It had been a good year since he’d been so careless to let another person touch him by accident, and he was not used to it anymore. </p><p>Except… it wasn’t uncomfortable. It took him a second to realize that what he was getting wasn’t anger or annoyance, things he might have expected from a person who was loudly arguing with someone. No, he felt <em> love </em>. </p><p><em> Again </em>.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t like he had any doubt that Atsumu loved his brother. He took them all to eat at his restaurant every week. Kiyoomi was pretty sure he went there all the other nights as well, at least when they weren’t away or celebrating in fancier places. </p><p>But this… this was too much. How could he contain so much unconditional love for another person inside of him? How did it not consume him?</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi moved slightly forward, raising his shoulders so Atsumu would catch the hint and let him go. He did, and Kiyoomi was left with nothing but the fading ghost of it, like he always was, like he’d been once before. </p><p>He looked at Osamu, really looked, and for a few more minutes remembered what it was like to know a person so completely, flaws and merits, and still love them with all your being. He looked at Osamu smiling to himself as Atsumu moved his attention elsewhere and started up a more pacated conversation with Hinata, and Kiyoomi knew that if he were to reach out and touch Osamu’s hand, he’d feel the same exact thing from him as well.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A few months later, they were on their way to an away game, and the first night at the hotel, Kiyoomi found himself wandering the hallways, passing the entrance hall and walking out into the crisp autumn air. He breathed in the cold, let it seep down to his bones for a second, before settling down with his back against the outer wall, looking out at the quiet suburban street their hotel was on. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, but he only saw a single car pass by the whole time. </p><p>It was silent and relaxing, just what he needed to calm his nerves before their game the following day. </p><p>Then the door opened and out stepped none other than Atsumu, who stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw him. Then his face split open in a familiar grin and he straightened up. “Fancy meetin’ ya here, Omi-kun.” </p><p>“Going for a run?” he asked, and Atsumu laughed. </p><p>“Nah, just wanted some fresh air.”</p><p>“Mh.”</p><p>“Ya can’t sleep?”</p><p>Kiyoomi shrugged. “I’m just jittery for the match, I guess.”</p><p>“This bed is not gross?”</p><p>Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at him. How did he remember that? It had been… what, six years before? “No, I brought my own sheets from home. I learned.”</p><p>Atsumu nodded gravely, “Yer so smart.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>Atsumu just chuckled and settled down with his arms against the porch railing. </p><p>“So, we haven’t really… had time to catch up yet,” he said after a while of silence, “Whatcha been up to?”</p><p>“Volleyball.”</p><p>Atsumu laughed. “Yeah, figured that one out already by myself. I meant… College. We kinda… left on bad terms back in high school and never talked after—”</p><p>“Bad terms?” he cut him off, confused.</p><p>“Y-yeah? Ya wouldn’t talk to me? Remember?”</p><p>Oh, <em> right </em>. It was fair to assume on his part that he’d been angry at him. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t mad at you or anything. I just… It’s hard to ex—”</p><p>“Did I make ya uncomfortable?”</p><p>“Uh? How?”</p><p>“What ya mean <em> how </em>? I flirted like an idiot. I thought ya got sick of it ‘cause I was makin’ ya queasy.”</p><p>“You what now?”</p><p>“Are you stupid? I liter’lly asked ya to come sleep in my bed. Spent the next weeks beatin’ myself up over it, thought I’d pushed ya so far away I’d never had any more chances ever, that I was just—”</p><p>“I thought you were just joking around.”</p><p>“I <em> wasn’t </em>. Well, at the beginnin’ maybe, yeah, but dude, I had a huge stupid crush on ya for the whole year.”</p><p>Kiyoomi snorted, and passed a hand on his face. “God, I… literally had no idea.”</p><p>“Well, I take back callin’ ya smart like ten minutes ago. Ya don’t deserve the title.”</p><p>“Look who’s talking. You could’ve told me.”</p><p>“What? How could I’ve been more clear than I was? Jesus, Omi. I called you <em> Omi </em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, it was super annoying.”</p><p>“<em>Omi! </em>”</p><p>Kiyoomi chuckled, because there would never come a day when he wouldn't enjoy making him squirm. “So, what about now?”</p><p>“Uh?”</p><p>“Still have it?”</p><p>“The crush? Uh, nah…” he laughed softly. “I’m… uh, I kinda…” </p><p>“Best friend, now, right?”</p><p>Atsumu threw him a look that Kiyoomi couldn’t quite decipher, but he’d connected the dots. Osamu’s weird tone every time he talked to him, and Atsumu who used to have a crush on him. It finally made sense. </p><p>“I mean, if yer available…” </p><p>“For a best friend position?”</p><p>Atsumu shrugged, with a pout that seemed to say ‘<em>or something else… </em>’</p><p>“Thought you were already best friends with, like, five people.”</p><p>“And who might these gentlemen be?”</p><p>“Uhm.” Kiyoomi raised his hand and started counting on his fingers. “Bokuto, Hinata, those two guys from you highschool, I don’t remember their names, but you all went together back in the day and I’m pretty sure I saw them at our games, and your brother.”</p><p>Atsumu scoffs. “‘Samu’s not my best friend, he’s my <em> worst enemy </em>.” </p><p>“Sure,” Kiyoomi said, knowing full well what the truth was. </p><p>“You still have the gloves, huh?” Atsumu suddenly asked, eyes fixed on his hands. And yeah, maybe Kiyoomi had brought attention upon them while counting, but still. Rude.</p><p>"Don't change the subject."</p><p>"I'm not…"</p><p>“You <em> are. </em>"</p><p>“I just thought… maybe you’d gotten a bit better with the germ thing.”</p><p>“Yeah?” he looked down at his open hands, then closed them into fists and pushed them deep inside his jacket pockets. “No. I haven’t.” </p><p>“Sorry ‘bout that.”</p><p>Kiyoomi shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make it nice.”</p><p>“No, I guess not.”</p><p>“Was it really the reason you couldn’t sleep back at camp?”</p><p>Kiyoomi held his breath for a second, then looked at him, at his slightly tilted head, the slightly raised eyebrows, the curious stare, and let it go. “Yeah. It just used to get really bad when I was in places I wasn’t familiar with.”</p><p>“What ‘bout now?”</p><p>“I learned to adjust.”</p><p>“Bringin’ yer sheets?”</p><p>“Yeah. What about you? I never asked what <em> you </em> were doing up and about in the middle of the night back at camp.”</p><p>“Ah,” Atsumu laughed, an embarrassed flush creeping up his cheeks in full view under the porch light. “Well, I wasn’t used to sleepin’ in a room by myself,” he admitted, raising a hand to scratch at his neck. “There’s always been ‘Samu, y’know?”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Kiyoomi said, and Atsumu moved his hand on top of his hair, squishing it down. </p><p>“Ya don’t think it’s ridiculous? And pretty stupid? Was like a little kid scared of the dark.”</p><p>“Nah, I think it’s normal.”</p><p>“Oh, alright.” He let his hand slide back down at his side, then chuckled. “God, I thought ya were gonna tease me so bad for it.”</p><p>“I only tease for things that deserve teasing. Like your hair.”</p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>“Though I have to admit you upgraded a little from high school.”</p><p>“Gee, thanks.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>Atsumu sighed, sounding content, and looked out to the street. Silence settled back between them, but not for long. “Think I’mma head back to bed, Omi,” Atsumu announced, stretching his arms in front of him. </p><p>Kiyoomi tried hard to ignore the pang of disappointment that he felt at hearing those words, and wished the silence had stretched out just a bit longer. He wanted to retort, say something smart, annoy him into starting one of their comfortable banters, but his brain drew blank. He watched Atsumu walk slowly towards the doors, and the only thing he could think of saying was a simple “Good night.” </p><p>Atsumu smiled, gave him a little wave of his hand in reply, and disappeared inside. </p><p>Kiyoomi waited a couple more minutes to be sure he was gone, and then let his head bang against the wall behind him, biting his lower lip to try and stop the smile that was creeping up his face. </p><p>He didn’t know why he was so happy to discover that Atsumu used to have a crush on him. In <em> high school </em>. Maybe because he was safe from it now that he didn’t want anything to do with romance, but it was still nice to find out someone liked you. Even if it was the past. Maybe he was so used to feeling ghost emotions from the past that now it all felt present to him. </p><p>He breathed in slowly, eyes closed, then let it all out through his mouth, detached himself from the wall and went back to his own room. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<h4>
<em>invisible machinery, these moving parts inside of me well, they’ve been shutting down for quite some time, leaving only rust behind</em>.</h4><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Falling in love with Miya Atsumu felt inevitable. </p><p>Like seeing dark clouds on the horizon and knowing they will bring a storm.</p><p>Like throwing a ball and knowing that, if nobody catches it, it will fall.</p><p>Still, it didn’t feel at all like falling. More like wading, slowly but relentlessly, into shallow waters. With every glance Kiyoomi stole, with every detail he allowed himself to register, with every smile he chose to reciprocate, with every time he let Atsumu into his spaces, he took another step towards the deep end. </p><p>And he knew that once he was soaked there would be no going back. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>One night Kiyoomi opened the door to his flat and had to stand to the side and watch as Atsumu got in and made himself comfortable on Kiyoomi’s couch. The plan was to watch a movie, as they often did lately. Atsumu had tried to get him to come to <em> his </em> house to even up the hospitality, but Kiyoomi always refused, saying he didn’t trust his cleaning skills. In truth, he had carefully chosen his flat to be in a newly constructed building, so that it wouldn’t have any old residents still roaming the space. It was his and only his, and the only place on the planet he could safely navigate without wearing gloves. </p><p>Atsumu had been a couple of minutes early that night, and Kiyoomi didn’t have them on yet. </p><p>“Jesus your flat is cold,” Atsumu complained, rubbing his bare arms while sinking deeper into the cushions. “What, yer trying to save up on the heatin’?”</p><p>Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to merge with my couch. I’ll get you a sweater.”</p><p>Atsumu smiled, face lighting up like a firework. Kiyoomi might have looked away a couple of months before, but now he didn’t. </p><p>He went to the bedroom, opened his drawer and picked the first hoodie he could find. He was on his way back to the living room when he stopped dead in his tracks. The hoodie wasn’t in his hands anymore, it was standing in front of him, with Atsumu inside of it. Kiyoomi stared. When had Atsumu worn this—? No. It was the future. He <em> would </em> wear it, and <em> only </em>it, Kiyoomi observed, eyes travelling down to notice his bare legs. He looked up again, feeling his cheeks catch fire. Atsumu had the hood pulled over his head, little tufts of blond hair peeking out from under it in a disorderly manner, the sleeves falling all the way over his palms, maybe a bit too long for him, and he was holding something – a mug? – and humming an obscure melody Kiyoomi didn’t recognize, while slowly swaying left and right on his feet. </p><p>Was this… the next morning? Was he… Was he going to… spend the night? Were they—</p><p>“Omi?” Atsumu’s real voice broke him out of it, and he opened his hands. The hoodie fell to the ground, and future Atsumu disappeared, replaced by his present version, looking at him with a concerned set of eyebrows. “Ya alright?” </p><p>Kiyoomi could do nothing but stare at him. </p><p>“Omi?” Atsumu walked closer, studying his face. </p><p>“Yeah,” Kiyoomi replied, hating how croaky his voice sounded. “I’m fine.”</p><p>Atsumu visibly relaxed but still looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Ya look like ya’ve seen a ghost.”</p><p><em> I have </em>, Kiyoomi wanted to say, but didn’t. He looked down at the ground, where the sweatshirt was pooled at his feet. He pulled his shirt sleeves over his hands and crouched down to pick it up. </p><p>“Here,” he said, offering it to Atsumu. </p><p>“Is it super dirty? Why ya giving this to me if you don’t even wanna touch it?”</p><p>“It just fell to the floor.”</p><p>“Mh.” Atsumu didn’t look convinced but took the hoodie anyway, sliding it over his head. He rolled the sleeves so they didn’t cover his hands, and Kiyoomi’s heart gave a painful squeeze. He couldn’t do this anymore<em>. </em> It was too much. </p><p>He let Atsumu go to the couch and went to fetch his gloves. </p><p>Atsumu looked at his hands very intently as soon as he came back until Kiyoomi pushed them inside his pockets and broke the spell. </p><p>“So!” Atsumu exclaimed, eyes rising up to meet his again. “What do you wanna watch?”</p><p>“I don’t know, you choose for once.”</p><p>“Uuh, such great power, much responsibility!” he laughed, grabbing the remote control. </p><p>He chose a random romantic comedy of which Kiyoomi didn’t even register the title. He couldn’t stop thinking about the vision. He looked at the screen and saw Atsumu. </p><p>How far away had it been? Next morning? Next week? In a month? Was he supposed to confess tonight? He had no plan to confess ever, so what was the deal with that? Should he just turn around and kiss him? He felt like he had a boulder pressing on his chest at the mere thought of kissing Atsumu, let alone do other things like the vision had implied. He heard him laugh along the stupid jokes in the movie and couldn’t stop imagining him having breakfast in his kitchen wearing his hoodie and humming along to a song Kiyoomi didn’t even know— and there it was. The song. Playing in the movie. </p><p>“<em>Kiss me out of the bearded barley. Nightly, beside the green, green grass… </em>” went the lyrics and Kiyoomi wanted the couch cushions to swallow him and never spit him out again.</p><p>So the ghost had been from the following morning, then.</p><p>Kiyoomi looked over at Atsumu, who was curled up on his side of the couch staring at the tv with wide eyes and a small smile on his face. He looked away before Atsumu would notice, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow on the arm rest, and trying to regulate his breathing in the vain attempt to make his cheeks cool down. </p><p>The movie ended, the song repeating in the credits and hitting Kiyoomi right in the gut all over again, and then Atsumu was standing up, stretching his arms over his head, saying he was “<em> real beat, Omi-kun </em>,” thanking him for the hospitality, and he was gone. </p><p>Kiyoomi had been so wrapped up in his own head that it took him a good five minutes to realize Atsumu had left with his hoodie still on.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was the <em> let’s go to Onigiri Miya for dinner </em> day of the week, and Kiyoomi was waiting for the rest of the team leaning against the outer wall of the gym. They all started trickling out, one or two at a time, until only Atsumu was missing. Of course he was taking longer than anyone else. </p><p>Kiyoomi had taken out his phone to send a quick text to his mother to let her know he was still alive and was going out for dinner and wouldn’t be available for their weekly phone call that night. Then he started reading the news to pass the time and to appear busy in order to avoid small talk with the others. </p><p>Finally, the straggler barged out of the doors, only one jacket sleeve on and bag swinging wildly behind him, the whole team cheered, and Kiyoomi pocketed his phone. </p><p>“Hey wait for me, maybe!” Atsumu complained, as they all started to walk away. </p><p>“I’ll hold your bag,” Kiyoomi offered, extending a hand. </p><p>“Thanks, yer the best,” he replied, and dumped the strap around his arm to finish pulling his jacket on. </p><p>“Wait,” Kiyoomi told him, when Atsumu held his hand out for having the bag back. “Your collar’s inside out.”</p><p>Kiyoomi reached out to pull it out and was hit with a flash as soon as his fingers brushed against Atsumu’s neck to get to the collar. </p><p>He pulled back before he had the time to register what was passing through, inspecting the glove that should have protected him, and found a hole, right on the side of his fingertip. <em> Fuck. </em></p><p>“Omi?” </p><p>He looked up at Atsumu’s uptilted eyebrows. </p><p>“Uh,” he had to stop right away, voice getting stuck in his throat. </p><p>Atsumu looked down at his hand, noticed the hole, and took his hand in both of his, bringing it closer to his face for inspection. He tutted, “That’s a real bummer,” then covered the hole with his thumb. </p><p>Kiyoomi inhaled sharply at the contact, and at the wave of unfiltered affection that followed. </p><p>It wasn’t the first time he'd felt this feeling coming from Atsumu, it had actually been the only thing he’d ever caught from him. It really shouldn’t have surprised him anymore. But it was the first time it was directed at <em> him </em>.  </p><p>Kiyoomi looked him in the eyes, and he was seeing himself through them, and it was <em> wrong </em>, he shouldn’t be allowed, he couldn’t— </p><p>He yanked his hand away, forcing his shaky breaths to go back to normal and looking away. “Don’t—” he started, voice shaky. “Don’t touch me,” he said, but the words lacked their usual cut, and Atsumu noticed. </p><p>“Sorry. Are ya alright?” </p><p>“I— yes.” He took another deep breath, and pushed past him. “I’m fine. Let’s go.” </p><p>“Yer being weird lately.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>“I mean weirder than usual,” Atsumu supplied, falling into step beside him, hand in his jacket pockets. “When will ya give me back my bag?”</p><p>Kiyoomi looked down at the strap he was still holding over his shoulder and threw it unceremoniously towards Atsumu, who caught it without trouble and slung over his own shoulder. “Thanks a bunch!”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<h4>
  <em> well i know, i know- the sirens sound just before the walls come down. pain is a well-intentioned weatherman predicting God as best he can, but God i want to feel again. </em>
</h4><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>So. Atsumu <em> liked </em> him. That was a thing. Against all odds and expectations, he <em> liked </em>him. </p><p>Oh, Kiyoomi was <em> screwed </em>. He knew where this would go. He still had no intention of being the one to make the first move, no matter the circumstances, so in the eventuality Atsumu man-upped and confessed, there really were only two possible paths history could follow: first option, the easiest one, Kiyoomi could lie, pretend he didn’t reciprocate any feelings, and turn him down, tell him no. Or, second option, he could give in. </p><p>The first option was going to hurt, but life would carry on the same as always. </p><p>The second… The second would be complicated.</p><p>He’d been down that road before in college. He knew how it would end. But Atsumu… Atsumu was different. And maybe that was exactly why he shouldn’t give in. </p><p>Kiyoomi cared about him, maybe a bit too much. More than he usually allowed himself to. So what would happen if he gave in, if he allowed himself one more selfish thing, and kissed him? Would they start dating? Would Atsumu touch him too much? Would Kiyoomi be too wrapped up in his own head to see the ghosts, like it had happened during his college experiments, or would it just be too much? He knew the closer he was to people the easier it was to catch ghosts from them. Wasn’t loving someone the closest you could be? </p><p>Well, maybe there would be no traumatizing memories. His college boyfriend had been an outlier, not everyone in the world died a horrible death. True, but he’d seen his mother die of old age and that hadn’t been very nice either. Plus, he didn’t want to see anything about his future. About <em> their </em> future. He didn’t want spoilers. Didn’t want to burn all the steps in one single touch. He wanted to live it, without knowing what was gonna happen ahead of time. Was it too much to ask? </p><p>Kiyoomi stood in the middle of his own bedroom, tears silently streaming down his cheeks as he let his thoughts spiral out of control and refused to get in bed. </p><p>Because if things weren’t already getting too out of hand, ghosts had started to invade his flat. <em> His home </em> . Where he’d always been safe. He’d be chilling on the couch and there was Atsumu, making himself comfortable next to him. He’d be grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen and there was Atsumu, sitting on the counter and making his legs swing back and forth like a little kid. Now Kiyoomi was scared to climb into <em> his own bed, </em>scared of ghost memories from the future. </p><p>He wanted it to <em> stop </em>. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi picked his phone up at the second ring, as he always did. “Hey, mum.” </p><p>“<em>Hello, hello! How are you doing? </em>” came her cheery voice, muffled by the speakers and the distance. </p><p>He settled back at the table, picking his chopsticks up and resuming his dinner. “Alright. You and dad?”</p><p>“<em>We’re good, we went to the farmers market today! </em>” </p><p>“Yeah? That’s nice.” </p><p>He let her talk his ear off about her day, and all the other news from home, interjecting here and there with a sound just to let her know he was listening. He liked their weekly phone calls, he liked hearing her get excited about trivial things like the peppers being on sale, or someone from their neighborhood finally getting married, or his dad’s favourite soap opera going back on-air. Plus, since he didn’t really keep in touch with his sister anymore, his mother was also his only source of news concerning the rest of their extended family. Most of all though, it was just nice being able to talk to someone who <em> knew </em> . Not having to circle around it, just cutting straight to the point. <em> Mum, I’m sick of the fucking gloves, I want to never take them off again in my life. </em>She understood. She talked him out of panics. She gave great advice. </p><p>“Mum, can I ask you something about grandma?” he ventured, picking at the last grains of rice that had escaped and refused to detach from the bottom of his bowl. </p><p>“<em>Sure, what is it? </em>”</p><p>Kiyoomi frowned down at his plate, gathering the thoughts that had been swirling around his brain for a couple of days now. “How did she do it? How did she live with you? With grandad?”</p><p>“<em>Oh, Kiyoomi </em> ,” cooed his mum, and he could hear the smile dripping from her words. “<em>Do you like someone </em> <em>?</em>”</p><p>“No,” he replied, curtly, “I’m just asking.”</p><p>“<em>You’re all grown-up— </em>”</p><p>“Mum.”</p><p>“<em>Yes… What do you want to know? </em>”</p><p>“She wore gloves, too, right?”</p><p>“<em>Not all the time. If I remember right she always had them when she was going out, yes, but at home she didn’t— </em>”</p><p>“Then how?” he cut her off, leaning his forehead on his hand. “How did she do it? <em> You </em>lived there. All of you.”</p><p>“<em>Yes </em>.”</p><p>“She could see you— all the time. Everywhere. How could she stand it?”</p><p>“<em>I think she was simply alright with it. </em>”</p><p>“Because she knew how to control it? She could stop it?”</p><p>“<em>No, I think she just didn’t mind seeing us. </em>”</p><p>Kiyoomi sighed. This wasn’t helping. He wanted a practical solution, not a vague hypothesis. </p><p>“<em>You know, one thing she was always telling me was ‘allow yourself to feel things,’ I think she simply… </em> allowed <em> herself to feel us </em>.”</p><p>“That is not a sustainable way of living.”</p><p>She laughed, short and merry, and replied, “<em>Oh honey. I’m sorry you think that. But maybe one day it will be. </em>”</p><p>Kiyoomi pursued his nose in refusal. “I don’t think so.”</p><p>“<em>You’re going to have to let some walls down, one day, Kiyoomi. The view on the other side might just be worth it </em>.”</p><p>“But it also might not.”</p><p>“<em>Well, if you think like that you’ll never do anything in your life. </em>”</p><p>“Is that a quote from <em> Finding Nemo </em>?”</p><p>“<em>Not quite </em>.”</p><p>“Mh.” He looked at the time, realized he had a little less than ten minutes before Atsumu would inevitably barge into his flat and make himself at home, and Kiyoomi still needed to clear the table. “I have to go,” he said, standing up and taking his bowl to the sink.</p><p>“<em>Sure. Say hi to Atsumu-kun from me! </em>”</p><p>“Okay—wait, what? How do you—”</p><p>She dragged out a “<em>byee! </em>” and then hung up. </p><p>Kiyoomi pulled the phone away from his ear, stared at it for a second trying to make sense of what had just happened, then shook his head, put it back on the table and busied himself with washing up. </p><p><em> Allow yourself to feel things, huh?</em> he thought, hands deep in dish soap foam. His grandmother hadn’t minded seeing her family’s memories around the house. <em> Good for her </em> , Kiyoomi thought. <em> Can’t be me </em>. </p><p>He dried his hands and went to get dressed. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu had barely the time to ring the doorbell before Kiyoomi wrenched the door open and stepped out. </p><p>“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, ignoring the weird look Atsumu threw his way and the “What’s wrong, did ya forget to hide the body ya just murdered in there?”</p><p>He just walked, hands deep in his pockets, ears focused on the sound of Atsumu’s steps trailing just behind him. </p><p>“Omi,” he called out. “Slow down. Are we takin’ a stroll or a race walkin’ competition?” </p><p>He slowed down but still didn’t grace him with an answer. </p><p>“Seriously, are ya alright? Ya didn’t really kill someone, did ya?”</p><p>Kiyoomi sighed. “No. That would be disgusting.”</p><p>Atsumu smiled, picking up the pace to get ahead of him. “That’s my Omi.” </p><p>Kiyoomi looked away. This was too much. </p><p>“Wanna talk ‘bout it?” Atsumu asked, uncharacteristically quietly. </p><p>“There’s nothing to talk about,” Kiyoomi replied. “I just felt like getting some fresh air.”</p><p>“Okay,” Atsumu conceded, eyes rising to look at the night sky above them. “Wanna hear about the episode of Hill House I watched earlier?” </p><p>Kiyoomi felt his shoulders drop, the tension he hadn’t even realized had been there suddenly released, and he glanced at Atsumu. “Yeah,” he replied. “Sure.”</p><p>“So, where did we leave off…?”</p><p>Kiyoomi smiled to himself as Atsumu launched into one of his usual tirades. </p><p>He smiled, because he had just realized there was no way he could cut this guy out of his life. It would have been the easiest solution to all of his problems. Keep him out of his spaces, out of his life, out of his head. But he couldn’t do that. </p><p>He didn’t want to. </p><p>There had to be something else he could do, he thought, as Atsumu’s voice droned on in the background of his mind, keeping him grounded and focused. </p><p>He couldn’t have him over at his house anymore, or he’d go crazy. But he could try to go to his. He would have to be careful, keep his gloves and not let anything slip. But he could do it. He could preserve the peace of his home and still hang out with Atsumu. </p><p>He could do it. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>So the following night, instead of waiting for him like he usually did, Kiyoomi put on his shoes and went to Atsumu’s flat. He didn’t tell him he was going because he feared that, if he thought too much about it or tried to discuss it with him, he’d change his mind. </p><p>“Time to make good on your offer of hospitality,” he declared as an answer to the confused look Atsumu threw at him as soon as he opened the door. </p><p>“Ah, alright,” Atsumu replied, sounding giddy as he moved aside to let him in. </p><p>The flat was small, but surprisingly tidy. Almost like he’d been expecting guests. </p><p>“What made ya change yer mind? Finally trust my cleaning skills?”</p><p>“No, I just… needed a change of scenery.” </p><p>He waded through the living space, studying the old, half caved-in couch, and the small tv hung on the wall, and then turned to Atsumu, who was standing with his arms behind his back still near the front door. He looked as if he expected Kiyoomi to just head back out any second and was ready to open the door for him. </p><p>“Well?” Kiyoomi asked, nodding his head towards the couch. “Movie?” </p><p>“Yes, right.”</p><p> </p><p>They watched another comedy, this one allegedly one of Atsumu’s favourites. </p><p>Kiyoomi tried to follow the plot but was too distracted by the fact that Atsumu kept turning his head to check on him. Kiyoomi didn’t give him signs that he was noticing it, but he was. Atsumu was being too obvious about it. Kiyoomi didn’t know if he was checking if he was enjoying the movie or trying to understand why he wasn’t relaxing in his seat and kept his hands in his lap and his head detached from the backrest. </p><p>“Did ya like it?” Atsumu asked as the credits rolled. </p><p>“It was fine.”</p><p>“I just love it. It’s so stupid but also so sweet, y’know? Like that scene at the end when he goes to the weddin—”</p><p>“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi cut him off, then regretted it. He barely called him by name, what had gotten into him?</p><p>“Hm?” Atsumu replied, muting the television and turning so he was facing him with his feet propped up on the couch cushion between them.</p><p>“I… I need to tell you something.” </p><p>“Oh. Okay.”</p><p>He didn’t know at what point during the movie he’d decided to come clean. Maybe it was because lately Atsumu had been pestering him to watch just one too many romantic comedies. Kiyoomi had decided he didn’t want to hear Atsumu confess to him, because while his logical brain wanted to turn him down, he knew all the other parts of him wouldn’t be able to resist it. The only way to avoid the situation was play in advance, and tell him the whole truth. </p><p>“I… uhm. I’ve never actually told anyone, so I don’t really know where to start.”</p><p>Atsumu’s eyes widened, and he straightened a little. “O-okay. Uh, take yer- yer time.”</p><p>Kiyoomi frowned at him. What did he think he was about to say? “You know my mysophobia?”</p><p>“The germ thing?” Atsumu asked, confusion palpable in his words. </p><p>“Yeah. It’s… not real.” </p><p>There was a beat of silence, then Atsumu chuckled quietly, “What?”</p><p>“I made it up. I’m not scared of germs.”</p><p>“Yer jokin’ with me, right? Is this come back for that time I borrowed yer scarf because I can give it back—”</p><p>“No. Shut up and listen to me,” he cut him off.</p><p>Atsumu shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked together. </p><p>Kiyoomi took a deep breath. “I made it up because it was easier to explain than the truth, but… I want to tell you, alright? I want to tell you the truth.”</p><p>“O-okay.” </p><p>Kiyoomi let a beat of silence pass, staring at his hands, at the gloves he equally loved and hated so much it tore him apart. “When I touch things… I see their ghosts.” He paused, throwing a side glance at Atsumu to gauge his reaction. He was just staring at him, serious and focused. Waiting for him to go on. </p><p>“I— I mean, not <em> real </em> ghosts. I don’t think… don’t think those actually exist.”</p><p>Atsumu was still and silent. It was driving Kiyoomi insane. He wanted him to talk, to ask questions, to laugh, to call him crazy, to run away. Instead he just sat there, patient and attentive, waiting for him to explain at his own pace. </p><p>Kiyoomi closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started from the beginning. “The first one I remember appeared when I was ten…”</p><p> </p><p>“So…” Atsumu started, a little hesitant, as soon as he’d finished explaining everything. “They’re basic'lly… memories. But also from the future?” </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And objects have memories too,” he said. It wasn’t really a question, but his confused tone made it sound like one. </p><p>“No, not <em> exactly </em>, they… they just absorb the memories of the people who used them. If they were big emotions. At… at first I felt all kinds of things from the most random objects, but… I think I learned to control it a bit over time. Most objects are safe. I don’t see the person that handpicked the rice I’m eating every time, you know… It’s just… big things.”</p><p>“Okay. Makes sense.” </p><p>“Does it?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“So, you believe me?”</p><p>“Well, it’s just a bit too complicated for it to just be somethin’ ya made up on the spot to mess around with me, right?”</p><p>“Uh, I guess…”</p><p>“But. I can pretend to be skeptical… I do kinda wanna see ya do it.”</p><p>“No, I’m not gonna—” </p><p>Atsumu hums, spreading a hand on the backrest of his couch. “Ya could try touchin’ my sofa…”</p><p>“I won't.”</p><p>“Okay, but <em> hypothetically </em> speakin'... what would ya see?”</p><p>“I'd see you… doing whatever you do here usually. Or did <em> that one time </em> that really stuck with you.”</p><p>“Cool. And yer really not curious at all 'bout—”</p><p>“No, Miya. I am not <em> curious </em>to see the time you boned someone on here—”</p><p>“I didn't bone no one!”</p><p>“Fine, <em> get </em> boned.”</p><p>“No!” Atsumu complained, throwing up his arms to cover his face. “No way, just stop sayin' the word <em> bone, </em> please, I'm beggin' ya!” </p><p>Kiyoomi snorted, feeling his back finally relax against the cushions.</p><p>Atsumu peeked out from between his fingers. “What about my coffee table? Can ya touch that?”</p><p>Kiyoomi looked over at the table in question. It looked old, the wooden surface lined with scratches and round water stains from glasses carelessly placed on top of it. </p><p>“Could ya tell me where I got it from? So I can 100% believe ya.”</p><p>Kiyoomi considered it was probably safe. How many bad memories could be tied to a nondescript coffee table after all? Maybe just a couple of toes hit against one of the legs. “Alright.”</p><p>He carefully removed one of his gloves, trying hard to ignore the weight of Atsumu’s stare, and lightly placed his hand palm down on the surface. He breathed in, breathed out, and jerked away. </p><p>“So?” Atsumu asked, leaning forward in anticipation. </p><p>“It was your grandma’s,” Kiyoomi replied, cradling his hand to his chest for a second, pressing his gloved thumb against his bare palm to make the image of two little dark haired boys, playing with Lego on top of it as a curved old woman put down two cups of tea and a plate of jam biscuits for them, go away faster.</p><p>Atsumu looked surprised, straightening up again in his seat, and looking back at the table as if, looking hard enough, he too could find a hint of its origin. “That’s right,” he said, turning back his attention to Kiyoomi as he slipped his glove back on. “That was so cool… Yer like Sherlock Holmes! You could become a detective, solve mysteries with one single touch!”</p><p>“Yeah, no thanks. I’ve seen enough dead people to last a lifetime.”</p><p>“Oh.” Atsumu looked taken aback for a second, then shook himself and leaned back, resting his elbow on the backrest and his cheek in his hand. “Y’know, I’m so mad at you for not being a real germaphobe.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“I cleaned my flat, like, <em> everyday </em> on the off-chance you’d come over and now I find out it was actually pointless?”</p><p>“Cleaning your house is not <em> pointless </em>, Miya. What is wrong with you—wait. You really did that…? For me?”</p><p>Atsumu laughed, shrugged and looked away. “Not a big deal. Drop it,” he said, waving a hand. “So, objects… I kinda get it. But what about people? It’s like… Ya can basic’lly read their minds?”</p><p>Kiyoomi sighed. “No, not really. I feel… their emotions? It's hard to explain, it's like… they pass them to me somehow. Like some form of… high empathy or something.” </p><p>“Oh. So… those times we touched…?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“What did ya…? Uh.” His eyebrows climbed up his forehead, as if his thoughts had just caught up with the rest of him. “That last time I touched yer finger... Did ya— I mean… Ya felt that— So ya already know that I… well, <em> y'know </em>.”</p><p>“Uhm, yeah. I do.”</p><p>Atsumu chuckled, passed a hand on his face maybe in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks, then exhaled a long breath. “Well, saves up some time, I guess.”</p><p>“Listen, I…” </p><p>“It's okay. I just have one question.”</p><p>Kiyoomi bit the inside of his cheek, tried to keep himself rooted in the present, not let his thoughts spiral away and out of control. “What is it?”</p><p>“Can I get one kiss?”</p><p>Kiyoomi stilled, feeling his eyes grow wide in surprise. “What?”</p><p>“Just one, promise. Please?”</p><p>“I… no. I <em> told </em> you— Have you not listened to a single word of what I've been saying to you?”</p><p>“Yes, yes!” Atsumu said, waving his hands in front of his face as if to shoo away the words coming from Kiyoomi, “But you said you dated someone in college! And it was alright! You kissed them just fine, you said—”</p><p>“I <em> know </em> what I said, but—”</p><p>“I'm only asking for one! Then I'll leave ya alone, I promise. I just… I just want to know what it feels like.”</p><p>“Miya—”</p><p>“It's just one little selfish request, please?” he kept begging, hands now joined together as if in prayer. “I promise I'll leave ya be after this, I won't ever ever bother ya again—”</p><p>“I don't want you to leave me be, don't you get it?” </p><p>“Uh?” he slowly lowered his hands, wide incredulous eyes rising to meet Kiyoomi’s.</p><p>“God, Miya, you're so dense.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I don't want you to leave, I'm in fucking <em> love </em> with you.”</p><p>The only thing Atsumu seemed capable of articulating at that moment was a strangled: “<em>Uh </em>?” </p><p>“I don't want to kiss you because I'm scared, okay?” he admitted, hands rising up in his hair, eyes closing as if to keep the world away. As if things would be different when he opened them again, like after one of his visions. </p><p>“O-of what?” Atsumu asked, quiet and careful.</p><p>“Of not being able to <em> stop. </em>” </p><p>“Well, that's the cheesiest thing I've ever heard in my lif—”</p><p>“<em>Miya. </em>”</p><p>“Sorry. I have a weird way of dealin' with serious conversations— so! Uhm. I… okay.”</p><p>“I don't want to… catch too much. I… when I was dating in college… there was a moment when I stopped being sure if what I was feeling was me liking him, or if it was just… his own feelings mirrored back.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I don't want that to happen again. And also… I don't want to feel you getting bored of me eventually—”</p><p>“I will <em> never, ever in my life </em>get bored of ya,” Atsumu declared, putting a hand on his heart. </p><p>Kiyoomi shook his head. “You say that now, but…”</p><p>“No, Omi, I <em> know it, </em>” Atsumu said, and he sounded so sure of it that Kiyoomi almost believed him. “I… I don't know many things in life. I know I'm kind of an idiot. But Omi, if I know one thing it's that I like you. That I've liked you since we were sixteen, and God, if it lasted this long I think it might as well last forever at this point," he said, raising his hands for emphasis. “And… I don't know if I love you, 'cause, well, I've never been in love for real before – he laughed, a little embarrassed chuckle – so I have no idea what that feels like, but if I have to place my bets I'd say it'd be something like this.”</p><p>Kiyoomi closed his eyes again, closing his hands in fists on his knees, because he <em> knew </em> what it was, what Atsumu felt for him. He'd tasted it himself. </p><p>“Omi, just… let me have this one? Please? Let this be the only selfish request I’ll ever make to ya, and, and— I can owe ya a favour after! How about that?”</p><p>“Miya…”</p><p>“Ya can ask me <em> whatever </em> ya want, literally <em> anythin’ </em>—”</p><p>“Just shut up.”</p><p>“I'm serious, ya have a wish? Then consider it gran—”</p><p>Kiyoomi grabbed his cheeks in his hands and sealed his mouth shut with his lips. </p><p>He heard him make a quiet strangled sound, noisily breathe out of his nose against his cheek, and then Atsumu opened his lips and returned the kiss, and Kiyoomi followed along, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing, reveling in the shivers that travelled down his back and thinking <em> ah, so this is what it's supposed to be like. </em> </p><p>He rested his arms over Atsumu's shoulders and started to slip off his gloves behind his neck, without breaking the kiss. </p><p>Atsumu's hands had started roaming up his chest, and Kiyoomi felt like exploding. He'd never wanted anything more in his life than get his hands over the man pressed against him. He wanted to feel the solidity of his presence, prove he was real and there, and not a figment of another time that would vanish into thin air at the first blink. He wanted to touch him, he wanted to <em> feel </em> him, he wanted to get under his skin, pick him apart, piece by piece, make him unravel under his fingertips and <em> feel </em>it all. </p><p>He wanted Atsumu to do the same to him. </p><p>Kiyoomi broke away just enough to put the gloves on the coffee table to have them within reach for later, then he was back in full swing, passing his hands over Atsumu's jaw, feeling the rough shadow of a beard under his fingertips, the thin and soft texture of his hair, the warm skin of his neck and shoulders, and letting the swirl of emotions that was flowing through his fingers wash over him. He wasn’t sure what was his and what was Atsumu’s, but he didn’t care. </p><p>He pushed and pulled and Atsumu gasped against his lips a breathless “If ya need to stop just say—” but Kiyoomi didn't even let him finish, shutting him up again with another kiss, and bringing him down with him against the sofa cushions. </p><p>He pulled back just enough to look at him in the eyes for a second, holding his cheeks in his finally bare hands. It was a clamp closing around his heart, a vicious grip that pulled the air out of his lungs. It was overwhelming, unfathomable, terrifying. It was <em> wonderful </em>. </p><p>“Touch me,” Kiyoomi whispered. </p><p>And Atsumu obliged.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<h4>
  <em> oh God i want to feel again. </em>
</h4><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi was lounging on his couch, reading a book. It was late and there had been nothing interesting to watch on tv, so the evening activity had turned into <em> old men hobbies </em>, to quote Atsumu.</p><p>Kiyoomi had just turned a page of his book, when he was hit on the shoulder by a socked foot. </p><p>He turned in the direction of the attack, and found Atsumu smiling mischievously at him, an evil glint in his eyes, the magazine he’d been thumbing through already forgotten on his stomach. </p><p>“What?” he asked, and Atsumu let himself fall back in a lying position in his own armchair, which he was draped over sideways, legs slung over the armrest. </p><p>“I’m <em> booored </em>!” he said, throwing his head back dramatically. </p><p>“Not my problem,” Kiyoomi replied, turning his attention back to the book. </p><p>Atsumu pushed his foot harder against his arm. “Omiii,” he complained. “Can I go get a snack?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Just a snack! I ain’t gonna leave no memories in the cupboard!” </p><p>“No, you know the rules.” </p><p>The rules. Important boundaries to make life bearable and the flat navigable for Kiyoomi even while sharing it with another person. No sitting on the furniture. No touching everything he could get his hands on. Only sit in the extra armchair Kiyoomi bought for him, and in that one chair at the kitchen table. No borrowing clothes, because if he did then Kiyoomi could say goodbye to them and he’d lose half his wardrobe. No handholding unless with gloves. No cuddles. Yes kisses, most of the time, unless Kiyoomi said no. Yes to everything else, really, unless Kiyoomi said no. </p><p>Atsumu followed the rules religiously, never complaining…    </p><p>“Yeah, but it’s just a snack.” </p><p>… Except when he was being difficult on purpose to annoy the hell out of him.</p><p>“I said no.”</p><p>“Can ya go grab it for me, then?”</p><p>“I’m reading.”</p><p>“Yer rude! Won’t even pamper yer boyfriend a little bit.”</p><p>“I won’t be your waiter in my own home.”</p><p>“Is it really yer home if I’m livin’ here too? It should be <em> our </em>—”</p><p>“No, it’s mine. It was mine first, you’re just a guest.”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Atsumu replied, pressing his foot even harder against his arm. </p><p>Kiyoomi pushed it away, knocking Atsumu off balance and almost maaking him fall off his armchair. </p><p>“Domestic violence!” Atsumu yelled, holding himself up with a hand on the floor. “I’m callin’ the cops!”</p><p>“You started it.”</p><p>“Ya won’t feed me!”</p><p>Kiyoomi groaned, realizing he was not going to be able to stay focused on his book any longer, and pushed himself up to his feet. “You’re impossible, you know that?”</p><p>“Yeah, but ya love me,” he replied, a cheeky grin spreading on his face as he draped his arms and head over the backrest to watch him walk to the kitchen. </p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>“Oreos. Those weird strawberry ones I bought the other day.”</p><p>“I’ll bring you an orange.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>Kiyoomi smiled, opening the cupboard and picking up the godforsaken biscuits. </p><p>He still felt a pang of regret, like every other time his self-imposed rules inconvenienced one, if not both, of them.</p><p>He looked at Atsumu, who was back in a normal sitting position (well, normal by his standards, he was still lying sideways with his legs over the armrest) and, not for the first time, wondered if it was really alright, what he was putting him through. </p><p>He dropped the package on his head and went to sit back on his couch as Atsumu half complained about the treatment and half thanked him for the favour. </p><p>"What's wrong?" Atsumu asked after a second, mouth already full of Oreos. </p><p>“Hm?” Kiyoomi frowned, picking up his discarded book to check if he put the mark at the right page, and putting it on Atsumu’s grandma’s old coffee table that had migrated to his flat along with his owner. </p><p>“Ya look… <em> off </em>. Are ya mad at me?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“—because if yer mad I’m sorry, alright. Whatever I did,” he mumbled, stuffing another Oreo in his mouth.</p><p>“I’m not mad, I’m…”</p><p>Atsumu stared, waiting for him to go on, cheeks slightly puffed as he had stopped chewing on the biscuits to listen.</p><p>“... I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Whu? For what? What did ya do? <em> Ohmygod </em> didja poison the Oreos?” he asked frantically, starting to inspect the package as if he’d be able to see the traces of his crime. </p><p>“Atsumu, please.”</p><p>He pouted, and ate another biscuit. </p><p>“I’ve been thinking…”</p><p>“Never a good sign.”</p><p>Kiyoomi let out an exasperated sigh, and Atsumu shrank in his shoulders. </p><p>“Okay, okay, sorry, I’ll shut up.” He ate another. </p><p>“Thank you. I’m just… I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, moving a hand to gesture to the air between them. “About having to confine you to that chair. And I’m… sorry. I wish you didn’t have to, and everytime you complain about it—”</p><p>“Oh, Omi, no. I’m always joking, ya know that, right? I really don’t mind!” </p><p>“I know,” he sighed, passing a hand on his face and rubbing at his eyes. “I know you’re joking, but still. It always makes me think that it’s unfair, to you. You… deserve better than this.”</p><p>Atsumu chuckled, resuming his relaxed position and popping another Oreo in his mouth. “Don’t know what ya mean, I’m living the life of a king.”</p><p>“Miya, please, just be serious for one second in your life.”</p><p>“No can do. Not when yer bein’ so stupid.”</p><p>“I’m not being stupid! You deserve better, deserve to be with someone who can actually touch you, for starters, and—”</p><p>“Nah, shut up,” Atsumu cut him off. “Come here.” He opened his arms and motioned for him to join him on the armchair. </p><p>Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, but he went along. He’d chosen that armchair carefully to be wide enough so they could both fit with just a bit of interlocking of legs. </p><p>“See, I can touch you plenty,” Atsumu said, once they were settled down, reaching his free hand to rest it on Kiyoomi’s knee and offering up the Oreos with the other. </p><p>“Are these even good? They look disgusting.”</p><p>“They’re amazing.”</p><p>Kiyoomi pouted slightly, and reached out to pluck one out. </p><p>“Y’know, ya might feel sorry for me, but I’m actually super lucky.”</p><p>Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at him in question, while gingerly opening the biscuit to eat the cream first. “How?”</p><p>“I mean, look at me! <em> Hey, </em> what’s that face for?!”</p><p>Kiyoomi scrunched up his nose even more, pushing his hands far away from his face. “God this cream <em> sucks </em>. It tastes like bubblegum.”</p><p>Atsumu laughed, and carefully picked the cookies out of his fingers without touching his bare fingers. “Yay, more for me!”</p><p>“Did you burn your tongue as a child and lost your sense of taste?”</p><p>“Ha! No, I have a very refined taste in fact,” he said, mocking a posh accent. “So sophisticated that most people simply don’t understand it.”</p><p>Kiyoomi snorted and lightly hit his shin with an elbow. </p><p>“Ya know what, Omi? I’m actually real happy that yer not an actual germaphobe. That woulda been the worst.”</p><p>“I don’t think it would—”</p><p>“Yeah! ‘Cause if ya were, I wouldn’t be able to do this,” he said, untangling one of his legs and very unceremoniously pushing his socked foot against Kiyoomi’s cheek. </p><p>“Oh my <em> god— </em>” Kiyoomi huffed, trying to get away by bending his head backwards, only managing to make Atsumu push harder and laugh louder. “Miya, I swear—I fucking hate you,” he hissed, getting a hand under his sole and starting to push back. </p><p>Atsumu just kept laughing, as Kiyoomi pushed his leg all the way until his knee almost hit his nose, and then finally gave up, putting his foot down.  </p><p>They settled back into silence, staring at each other and trying not to laugh. In the end Kiyoomi gave in first, snorting and biting his lips to keep the smile contained. </p><p>Atsumu just smiled, eating another Oreo. </p><p>“Stop eating those, they’re gonna give you a stomach bug.”</p><p>“It’s fine, my stomach’s strong. I had to live through ‘Samu learnin’ to cook. Believe it or not, he was <em> not </em> always that good.”</p><p>Kiyoomi snorted again, looking down to hide it. He stared at his hands, resting in his lap, and closed them into fists. Well, Atsumu could say he was okay with the arrangements, but the fact that Kiyoomi wasn’t satisfied with the reassurance was making him think that maybe the problem wasn’t Atsumu, but himself. <em> He </em> was not satisfied, <em> he </em> wanted more. He remembered a phone conversation with his mother, from what was now more than a year before. What was it his grandma used to say? <em> Allow yourself to feel things </em>…  </p><p>Kiyoomi wanted to allow himself to feel Atsumu, everyday and everywhere. He wanted him to fill every nook and cranny of his—no, <em> their— </em>flat, he wanted him to fill every moment of his life. He wanted to see him when he wasn’t there, feel his happiness and his anger and his sadness and his hunger and his love. He wanted to let him roam freely in their home, let him curl up against him on the same couch, let him sleep on his side of the bed. He didn’t want to be afraid anymore. </p><p>Kiyoomi raised a hand, putting it palm up between them. </p><p>“Oreo?” Atsumu asked, already starting to pull one out of the package. </p><p>“No,” Kiyoomi replied. “Hand.”</p><p>“<em>Oh </em>.” Atsumu stared at him for a second, gaze fixed on him in scrutiny, but he didn’t need to ask if he was sure of it. Kiyoomi knew he could see it in his eyes. “Okay.” Atsumu reached out and slowly lowered his hand on top of his. </p><p>Kiyoomi closed his eyes. He wanted to do this. He was not going to be afraid anymore. He could do it. He needed to do it. </p><p>He let the present emotions flowing out of Atsumu pass through him like a summer breeze through a window, and breathed it in, the quiet joy, warm and enveloping, passing in a shiver on his skin, rising up his arms and flowing down his back. It was over quickly, and Kiyoomi passed a thumb over Atsumu’s knuckles, still keeping his eyes closed. He felt the skin get rougher under his touch, lose elasticity, and he brought it closer to him. He opened his eyes to see it was darker than what he was used to seeing, covered with spots and swollen veins. He looked up, slowly, eyes travelling up Atsumu’s arm all the way to his face. He was rounder, all his edges softened by time and wrinkled by happiness. He looked at the laughter lines around his mouth, curled slightly in a soft smile, at the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, crinkled and narrowed, at the way his eyebrows had gone white along with his hair, which had grown thin and slightly frizzy, probably ruined by all the bleaching.</p><p>He looked, and thought ‘<em>O</em><em>h, he’s still beautiful </em> .’ And then something caught under the thumb he was still passing over his knuckles, and he looked down to see a little tube coming out of his hand, held in place with a white tape. <em> Here we go </em>. He looked up to his face again, feeling his heart rise in his throat, his pulse increasing in fear and anticipation, as the smile melted off Atsumu’s face, and his eyes closed, and he took a breath, then another, and then no more. Kiyoomi squeezed the hand that had gone limp in his, and brought it up to his lips. He kissed his bony knuckles once, then leaned forward and rested his forehead against them, closing his eyes and just remembering he had to keep breathing, that it was far away, that it wasn’t now, that Atsumu was okay right now, and it would be years and years before what he’d seen would come to happen, and that he had looked serene. It was going to be peaceful and he was going to be old and wrinkled and there was no reason to grieve about it already and everything was going to be okay—  </p><p>“Omi,” Atsumu said, and Kiyoomi looked up again, to his normal 25-year-old boyfriend. “You okay?”</p><p>Kiyoomi breathed again, slow and deliberate. “Yeah,” he replied, still not letting go of his hand. “I’m okay.” </p><p>Atsumu smiled and squeezed his hand back. </p><p>“Listen,” Kiyoomi started, barely more than a whisper “I think we can… start tweaking the rules.” He paused to take another breath. “Just a bit.” </p><p>“Omi—”</p><p>“A little bit at a time.”</p><p>“Okay,” Atsumu said, because he knew better than to try and argue about this. “If yer sure.”</p><p>Kiyoomi was hit with another soft breeze, making the hair on his arms stand on end, and he let go of Atsumu’s hand, more on instinct than anything else. He gathered his hands in his lap, and looked down at them.</p><p>“It’s all good, Omi,” Atsumu said, making him look up again and meet his gentle eyes. “A little bit at a time. As I said I think I’m real lucky, anyway. You don’t need to worry about anythin’, alright? It’s not like we need to be up close <em> all </em>the time.” He smiled, one of those closed mouth, quiet, honest smiles that pulled at his cheeks and crinkled his eyes. One of those smiles Kiyoomi loved the most, one of those smiles he couldn’t help but mirror. He smiled, and added: “I can love ya just as well from afar.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><h4>
  <em> down my arms, a thousand satellites suddenly discover signs of life. </em>
</h4><p><br/>
<em>Touch, </em>Sleeping at Last <em>—</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://www.sleepingatlast.com/blog/touch-how-it-was-made">For your consideration, read this awesome explanation of the song by Ryan O’Neal because it just makes everything 100 times better</a>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br/>find me on <a href="https://dr-awkward221b.tumblr.com/">tumblr (general)</a>,  <a href="https://m-art-i.tumblr.com/">tumblr (art)</a>, <a href="https://instagram.com/m_art_i_?igshid=1vqasl5db2m9k">instagram</a> and also <a href="https://twitter.com/m_art_i_?s=08">twitter</a> (wow so many socials,, i'm such an influencer aksdhak)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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